


We Might Share Everything

by BlueButterflyDreamer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, Possessiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueButterflyDreamer/pseuds/BlueButterflyDreamer
Summary: “Aw, come on, Arthur. I kinda am partial to it. Besides, it’s yours and smells like ya.”John is wearing Arthur's shirt, and Arthur has some issue with it that he has to work out.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Morston Week 2020





	We Might Share Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Late, by a lot, for MorstonWeek2020, but I still wanted to post it, so forgive me.

Arthur Morgan stood, hands on his hips, glaring at John Marston who stood with a wide shit-disturbing grin on his face.

John finally caved in and asked, knowing fully well was the issue. “What’s wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur glared even harder at John.

“Ya damn well know what’s wrong a fore even opening yar mouth.”

That was followed by a long huff of exasperation.

John giggled like some school girl.

“Marston!”

“Aw, come on, Arthur. I kinda am partial to it. Besides, it’s yours and smells like ya.”

Arthur, turned on his heel to move out of the hotel room they were sharing, in Saint Denis, to the balcony overlooking the street.

He watched the people, down below, walking and chatting as they passed by.

_‘Things just don’t get ever easy with ya, do they boah?’_ he thought to himself, half chuckling.

John and Arthur had been serious about each other, going on a half a year, give or take a week or two.

They might have shared everything, as most couples would and do, but there was one thing Arthur did not really want to share, and that was his favourite shirt.

It wasn’t that it was _just_ his favourite shirt, and it wasn’t _that_ big of a deal, but still a small part of Arthur winced over it.

Even if that favourite shirt was not worn as often, but shit, Arthur had his reasons.

He could recall the day, as clear as if it were yesterday, when he saw it in the Wheeler, Rawson and Co. catalogue, in the store where Hosea had taken him to purchase something for Bessie for her birthday.

It might have been the nicest thing he had ever seen in his life, and he had wanted it badly. He remembered he had pointed it out to Hosea, and Hosea had told him he could have it, if he worked for it.

The whole ride into town had been fraught with emotion, for both of them that day.

Hosea excited about getting Bessie her gift, acting all giddy like some school boy and Arthur, sitting glumly mulling over his beratement by Dutch for robbing some poor family’s home.

Both Dutch and Hosea had instilled into him that one does not steal from the poor, but Arthur had wanted the pocket watch the man had and there had been no talking him out of it.

When Dutch had discovered what Arthur had done, he had to return it. He had to apologize, make amends, deep amends for what he’d done.

He got off lucky that the man had not gone to the law regarding the theft of the watch, _damn_ lucky.

After two weeks of honest to goodness free labor for the man and his family, he was allowed to go. His debt paid in full.

The man he had stolen from had stepped forward and shook his hand and had added his thanks and hoped that Arthur had learned a lesson.

Arthur had nodded. He had.

It had been the first time in Arthur’s life he felt worth something, felt he was something other than an outlaw.

Hosea had never said a word about it afterwards, just laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

Dutch, Dutch still bore a dislike over the situation. He told Arthur that he had put the gang in jeopardy with his foolishness; even after Arthur had made amends.

He had then taken Arthur to town and bought him a new watch.

A new watch he purchased using money from a robbery where, by misfortune or intent, Dutch had shot and killed two people.

He, of course had justified it, preaching that some were destined to die, and why not by the hand of an outlaw than under the plow?

Arthur, never used the new watch.

How it had come to be his, the money taken from folks that might themselves had sorely needed sat ill with Arthur. 

That and the fact that Dutch had _killed_ two innocent people over it.

He had hated it and was not too fond of Dutch who was oblivious to how Arthur had felt.

It sat in the bottom of his trunk, forgotten.

But, the shirt, the shirt had been something entirely different.

Arthur took it into his head to work for the shirt, and he would do it _his_ way.

It was the very first shirt he had ever purchased with money he had saved up.

Money, he had worked hard for, _real_ hard.

Money earned by doing odd handy jobs, breaking-in horses, mending fences, getting his hands covered in dirt and not blood.

All honest, legitimate jobs for the money for the shirt.

It had not been easy working those legitimate jobs, keeping his head down, but he had a point to prove, maybe to Dutch, but more so to himself.

At the ripe old age of nineteen, he had decided to be his own man for once and not Dutch’s lackey.

When finally, he had amassed enough money for the shirt, he had ridden into town by himself and bought the shirt. Carefully laying the money on the counter, watching as the store owner counted it out before slipping it into the till.

The shirt had come wrapped in brown paper, tied with some string.

Arthur had stumbled out to his horse, in awe of what he had held in his hands.

He had ridden out fast, the opposite direction of the camp.

He wanted to be alone when he opened the package, when he took the shirt out, when he tried it on.

Shaking hands had undone the string, opening back the paper and removing the shirt.

Arthur toyed with the collar of the shirt and felt the fabric, his eyes must have shone bright at the color of blue it was.

He had made sure he had washed first before he had pulled it on, his arms sliding into the sleeves carefully, then took the time to tie up each button so as not to pop them.

When he was done, he had smoothed the front down and nodded to himself.

This was a fine shirt.

It was still a fine shirt, even after all this time.

It held many memories amidst its woven threads and there could be more woven there too, Arthur supposed.

He turned around to face John who was still wearing it, a smile still on his face as he looked towards Arthur.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, I guess I didn’t realize it would bother ya so.”

Arthur walked towards John, his hands reaching for him, pulling him close.

“Ah dammit, I should be the sorry one. You mean more to me than any ol damn shirt, Marston. I should be the one apologizing.”

“Arthur, if the shirt means that much to ya. I won’t wear it.”

Arthur tilted John’s head back and planted a soft kiss on his lips, smiling as he did.

His arms tightened around John as he melted into his body.

“I guess I can share it with ya, but first...”

Arthur kissed John again, this time with much more intensity. His hands groping and pulling the shirt from the waist band of his jeans.

Arthur felt his loins grow heat and his passion rise.

“Now, take it off,” Arthur said a husky edge creeping into his voice, “I want to show you how I really feel bout ya after seeing ya in that shirt.”


End file.
